


3 times jeremy heere was there (+ 1 when he wasn’t)

by itsfromjapaAAAAAAAN (alex_marie1324)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Character Death, Death, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, as common as a page 80 fic, but Hey I tried to put my own spin on it, cliché Michael commits suicide fic you guessed it, oh right the tags aren’t the authors notes, there’s not much you could interpret as romantic??? but it can go either way idc, uhhh the relationship isn’t even really implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 20:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14901213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_marie1324/pseuds/itsfromjapaAAAAAAAN
Summary: I. On the PlaygroundII. On the DoorstepIII. On the EdgeIV. In the Basement





	3 times jeremy heere was there (+ 1 when he wasn’t)

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh so these Michael committing suicide fics are really common, I know. But I heavily projected my own struggles with borderline personality disorder to try and ?? put some original spin on it

_**I. On the Playground** _

_****_

_****_

The class had just been released to recess, and as the flood of nine to twelve year olds rushed out to the old and rusty playground creatures they climbed.

Jeremy was never a big fan of most of the steel provided for their entertainment. It bruised his knees and calloused his hands, or, if it was sunny, it burned to touch.

He usually sat in the pavilion, which is exactly what he did today. He sat criss-cross on the bench of a picnic table, looking around as the other kids played.

And that was when a flash of red- a red t-shirt, Jeremy realized, a boy- came barreling in, face in his hands as he stormed over to the back corner table and sat down, crossing his arms.

He was crying, Jeremy realized. He didn’t recognize the boy, but that wasn’t uncommon. Unless you were in class with someone, you never saw them.

But what puzzled Jeremy the most about this boy who came to cry under the shade of the pavilion was that he looked /angry/ as he was crying. Jeremy had never seen someone cry and not look… well, sad. But this boy? He looked furious as he wiped the tears from his cheeks.

Jeremy wasn’t the most outgoing person ever, he’d never been the one to approach other kids (and therefore he hardly had friends, mostly just kids he got along okay with) but this boy was just calling to Jeremy.

He uncrossed his legs and slid off the picnic table bench and walked over to the boy. And then he realized he had no idea what to say.

“Are you okay?”

The boy jumped, his anger turning to shock in a split second. He quickly dried his face. “I’m fine,” he said, not looking at Jeremy. Jeremy rocked back and forth on his feet.

“I’m Jeremy,” Jeremy said awkwardly, sticking out his hand. The boy looked shocked again.

“Michael…” the boy said quietly, slowly taking and shaking Jeremy’s hand.

_(Jeremy later learned the teacher had taken Michael’s Pokémon cards when he was trying to play with them outside.)_

__

__

_**II. On the Doorstep** _

_****_

_****_

It was raining. That was really all Jeremy knew, he’d glanced out his window earlier and could still hear the pittering. But the sound of some be knocking broke through the noise.

He fumbled down the stairs, opening the door to find- “Michael?”

Michael smiled, stood there in the rain. He was soaked from head to toe, and Jeremy couldn’t tell- because there was so much rain- but it look like he’d been crying. “Can I come in?” He asked.

His appearance would be strange enough, but the question solidified the weirdness of what was going on. Michael never /asked/ to come in, he just came in.

“Of course,” Jeremy said, stepping out of the doorway. Michael stepped in. Someone else might’ve missed it, but his smile dropped as soon as he was past Jeremy. Jeremy saw.

Michael wouldn’t open up all night about what happened, he just stayed there and acted like he was fine, like he didn’t walk (Michael never had to walk to Jeremy’s, his parents always drove him) to Jeremy’s around nine p.m. in the pouring rain.

(It wasn’t until it was too late that Jeremy realizes that must’ve been the first night. The first time it happened.)

_**III. On the Edge** _

_****_

_****_

“I- I really- I nuh- I need-”

Michael had called Jeremy sobbing incoherently.

“Do you need me to come over?”

“ _Please_ ,” and that was all Jeremy needed. He took his dad’s keys and ran to the car. He’d just gotten his license about two months ago, but safety be damned when he answered his phone to his best friend sobbing.

When he got there, he found Michael in the bathroom, hands in the sink- no, not his hands… his wrists. His arms.

“Michael?”

“I’m- I’m suh-suh-sorry-“ Michael said, not meeting Jeremy’s eyes as he washed the blood from his arms. He was still breathing erratically as a result of sobbing not long ago.

“ _Mikey_ ,” Jeremy rushed to his side before searching for first aide supplies. He wasn’t so naïve to not know how Michael’s wrists and arms had been bloodied, but he didn’t ask until after he was clean and bandaged.

“I just wanted… I wanted to _feel_ something,” Michael said, squeezing his fist as Jeremy finished tying of the gauze. “I feel like I’m just floating in water all the time and everything is so _dull_ -”

“Shhh,” Jeremy said quickly, noticing that Michael was getting worked up again and his eyes were filling with tears. He cupped Michael’s cheek and wiped the tears. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t distressing and confusing to hear Michael speak like that, but he didn’t want to go so deep Michael couldn’t come back. “It’s okay.”

“This isn’t-” Michael took a deep breath. “This isn’t the first time,” he admitted, breathing out softly.

That caught Jeremy off guard. “What?”

“I- I mean, this is the worst. I cut too much of both arms to be able to really clean them up myself like I usually do, but it was all I could feel and I just wanted to keep going _deeper-_ ”

“Stop,” Jeremy choked out, and this time it’s for his own sake instead of Michael’s. He couldn’t seem to digest this new information. And as much as he almost didn’t want to know, he had to. “How long?”

Michael shrugged. “Two… almost three years,” he said quietly. Jeremy was in total shock. How did he not notice, all this time?

When had Michael’s hoodie became less a beloved clothing item and more a part of Michael’s body? Hiding away secrets not even Jeremy was privy to until now? And he was only informed now because Michael had pushed the secret too far and needed help fixing it. He wondered if Michael would’ve never told him if he never needed the help cleaning up.

“Why…”

The question seemed to snap Michael into some defensive side of himself, pulling his arms away from Jeremy entirely. Jeremy wasn’t sure why he was still holding them anyway- they were already bandaged- but it stung. “There’s a lot of shit I don’t tell you, Jeremy,” he snapped.

Jeremy learned to keep his mouth shut about this stuff. He wishes now that he hadn’t.

**_IV. In the Basement_ **

**__**

**__**

Michael tried to call Jeremy, but every call went to voicemail. He wasn’t surprised, Jeremy was ‘cool’ now, and Michael just wasn’t. He never was, but it never bothered him. Or at least he said it didn’t bother him.

But it did. It seeped under his skin, the nasty words thrown at him as effortlessly as a spitball and as en masse as an arsenal. It didn’t help that therapy did nothing for him. In fact, it probably hurt more.

He went to Home Depot and told them he was interested in building some DIY rope-shelves he found on Pinterest. (He’d researched what he could plausibly be doing with the rope other than his true intentions, just so he could avoid suspicion.) They were so helpful in finding him the perfect rope. Thin, but strong. Perfect.

He took it home and hid it in his closet. Not that his parents cared to look, he’d only been taken to therapy because a teacher at school expressed concern and his parents wanted to avoid looking negligent. Like they were ever there anyway.

He deliberated on it for another week, drafting a note almost every day and crumpling it up and tossing it away.

He managed to get together what he decided was good enough of a note for whoever had the unlucky pleasure of finding him.

He tied the rope to an exposed pipe in the basement ceiling. He’d stood on a box to reach it.

He debated before finally calling Jeremy, this time leaving a voicemail.

_“Hey, Jeremy. I know you don’t care, and that’s okay. I just… I care. So I have to say one last goodbye. Thank you for being there for me for so long, I really needed it. I’m sorry shit had to end this way, it… well, it really fucking sucks. Goodbye.”_

__

__

Jeremy didn’t listen to it until about two hours after it had been left. He dropped his phone and sprinted to his car, almost definitely speeding the whole way to Michael’s house.

“Michael? Michael!” Jeremy shouted as he ran through every room. He hadn’t been to Michael’s place in over three months- hell, he hadn’t even talked to Michael in as much time- but nothing had changed.

The basement was a horrific site. Jeremy stumbled back, holding his mouth to keep from vomiting. Michael- his best friend, maybe ex best friend but he’d never be able to ask him- was dangling from the ceiling like a rag doll, limp and lifeless. Jeremy sobbed.

It wasn’t until after the paramedics arrived that Jeremy even noticed the note. He couldn’t even think to look for one, the voicemail itself seemed like it was Michael’s ‘note’. But as it turned out, Michael had a lot of parting words.

_Borderline personality disorder. That’s what I’ve been told, at least. That’s what’s wrong with me, so if you’re looking to blame someone, or something, blame that. Or blame me, since I have it._

__

__

_To my parents; I guess I’m sorry. I don’t know, honestly. I don’t know when you’re even going to hear about this. It’s quite possible it won’t be for a week after I’m found. Who knows. But whatever, I know you didn’t care anyway. So it’s fine._

__

__

_To Jeremy; I’m definitely sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a good enough friend for you, or cool enough. I really wish I could’ve kept you around, because maybe we wouldn’t be here now. I don’t want you to blame yourself, though. It’s my fault. I couldn’t keep it together. I can’t expect you to try and keep me together. So it’s okay. I might’ve called you, but I haven’t decided yet. If I didn’t: I’m sorry it had to end this way, but I just couldn’t keep going. No one wants me here and I don’t want to _be_ here. Thank you for the good times, I’ll always remember them._

__

__

_To the rest of the world; fuck you. If there’s anyone to blame who isn’t me, it’s you. It’s you for being uncaring, not even noticing that I was slipping. I’m glad to be gone._

__

__

The paper was covered in tears, but they weren’t Michael’s.

**Author's Note:**

> **for the record I, the author, am completely fine :>! I have supportive friends and family who love me and have helped me in dealing with my issues. This is more a projection of where my mind might be if I didn’t have that. 
> 
> If you are struggling, call 1-800-273-8255 or use one of the many online chat rooms for suicide prevention. Stay safe, kiddos <3


End file.
